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Sunday, September 30, 2012

As of today, we're officially down to 10 days until DEVOURED is released. Since one of the main themes of the book is 10 days of Lucas's rules, for the next several days I'll be posting teasers, mini-giveaways, character profiles, and character playlists. On today's agenda . . . Sexy Sunday Snip. Hope you enjoy and check back often over the next 10 days for a look into Lucas and Sienna's story and for a chance to win DEVOURED swag!

Lucas’s shoulders relax a little as
he pushes out the last few chords. He scribbles something into a tattered blue
notebook, reading over his notes a few times before he lifts sleepy, hazel eyes
to mine. Locks of his messy, dark hair flop into one of them. “I didn’t call
for you,” he says huskily. “What do you want?”

I feel my body ignite, but when I
turn to leave, he says softly, “Stay. I don’t want to . . .” And though there’s
a part of me that wants to take advantage of the vulnerability in his voice,
there’s another part that’s reminding me of my deal with this man. I’m at his
beck and call for the next week.

And now, he wants me with him.

Tentatively, I walk forward. The
tile is cold under my bare feet, and I wish I’d never gotten out of bed. I
stand next to the piano and cross my arms over my chest. “How long do you need
me for?” I demand, glaring down at him.

He’s writing in his notebook
again—shorthand lyrics from the look of things—but his lips move into a slow
grin that makes those uncomfortable flutters start in the pit of my stomach
again. Does he realize how much these gestures--small as they may be--screw with my resolve?

Of course he does. He wants to screw
with my resolution so he can get down to screwing me.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

To celebrate the release of DEVOURED in 13 days (holy crap, guys!) I'm holding my first giveaway. And the best part about this contest is EVERYONE wins something. Here are the rules:

Leave me a comment telling me your favorite kickass rock version of any song and why. And hell, if you don't have one, just tell me your favorite kickass song, any genre. Make sure you include your email address so I can contact you when the contest is officially over on October 17th. Your entry will look something like this:

Sunday, September 23, 2012

I missed Sexy Sunday Snip last week, but I swear, it was totally for the sake of editing! Since DEVOURED is scheduled for release in just over two weeks, I've decided to share the entire first chapter as my SSS this week. I've uploaded the excerpt to Goodreads where it can be downloaded as a PDF or Epub. You can also check out the chapter below. I hope you enjoy and check back next week for exciting contests!

CHAPTER 1

“Your baby brother called. Three times.”

My eyes snap up from the mail I’m
holding in my hands to meet Brea’s dark ones. She’s just a few feet away from
the foyer, sitting on the other side of the Formica countertops and fidgeting
with the rim of a supersized shot glass. Even my roommate knows my brother well
enough to realize something is up. It must be important because Seth wouldn’t stop
avoiding me for anything else. He’s owed me two grand since July, six months
ago, and the last time I actually spoke to him was Labor Day.

Damn
. . . this can’t be good.

“Did he say what he wants?” I croak. I press the back of my body to the steel door
behind me. Crisp envelopes crumble between my fingertips, but I’m powerless to
stop myself from totally obliterating the stack of bills and post cards from
Brea’s parents. I’m too worried about why Seth would call me.

Three times.

Brea shakes her head slowly, glances
down at the splash of clear liquid at the bottom of her glass. There’s no
bottle in sight, but I know she’s drinking peppermint schnapps. The telltale
bottle of chocolate syrup is next to her phone. Plus, schnapps is our usual
Friday night pre-gamer, though I’m in no mood to even consider touching the
stuff right now. There’s already a migraine building in that frustrating spot
between my eyes.

“He just said call him . . .” she says. But as her voice trails off, I know she’s
thinking the same thing I am.

What
the hell has my mom done this time?

Giving Brea a fake smile, I ask, “You
going out tonight?” The answer is obvious. It is Friday night, and even though only her upper body is visible, I
can tell she’s dressed to kill. Immaculate hair and make-up, check. Strapless
red dress that’s probably no longer than my top, check. Mile high, screw-me
shoes, double check.

“Vanguard with Ben, Stacy, and Micah.”
Her dark, perfectly arched eyebrows knit together, and she parts her M.A.C -painted
lips to say something else. I shake my head, and she immediately snaps her
mouth shut. We both know that her inviting me is pointless. Whatever Seth’s
about to tell me will ruin my night and probably the rest of my year, too. I
swallow hard, trying my best to get rid of the burn in the back of my mouth.

Brea reaches across the counter to grab
her phone. “I’m calling to cance—” she starts, but I lunge forward and pluck it
out of her hand, dropping the balled up mail beside of her glass.

“Ugh, no. You look way too hot to spend
your night with me. I’ll be fine.” She doesn’t seem convinced because she
purses her lips into a thin, scarlet line. I slide her phone into her hands,
plaster on an even brighter smile, and tell her in the calmest voice I can
muster, “Y’all have a good time, okay?”She says something else, but I can’t hear her. I’m already walking down
our narrow hallway to my bedroom, my own phone clutched in my fist.

Seth picks up on the second ring, just
as I’m closing my door behind me.

“Thank God,” he hisses. “Where’ve you
been, Si? And why the hell didn’t I have this number?”

I slam my oversized bag onto my bed. My
wallet along with a bunch of tampons and makeup spill out onto the lavender cotton
sheets and some fall on the carpeted floor. I decide to clean it up later. “I
work. And I’ve tried to call you from this number several times. You just choose
not to—”

“Sienna, it’s Gran,” he says.

And this—this is when I literally freeze in place, between my bed and my
desk. My heart feels as if it’s stopped. The first thing I’d assumed when Brea
told me Seth was trying to reach me was that my mom was in trouble again. I
hadn’t even thought of my grandmother because she’s so strong and resilient and
wonderful.

She’s also 79 years old.

I try to say something, anything, but
there’s a lump the size of a lint-flavored golf ball clogging the back of my
throat. I’m choking and wheezing when Seth sighs and finally replies, “She’s
fine, Si. Well, physically fine.” Then, he tells me what’s going on. He says
words like foreclosure and eviction notice. New owner—some
douchebag musician from California. Court on Monday. And then he tells me that
I need to be there for her, for him.

“I have work,” I say, but I’m already
sitting in front of my laptop with my online bank statement pulled up on one
tab and Travelocity on the other. I’m already entering in my debit card
information for an early Monday morning flight, despite my balance being a few
dollars short of three thousand—half of which I’ll have to give up to Brea for
the bills we share.

And before I hang up with my little
brother, I’m already shoving my belongings in the worn Coach suitcase my
grandparents had given me five years ago, as an eighteenth birthday present.

*

It’s mind-numbingly cold in Nashville—33
degrees to be exact—and snowing lightly when I slide into Seth’s Dodge pick-up
a few days later. From the way I’m sweating, though, you’d think it’s early
August. I spent the entire flight from Los Angeles going over how I’d convince Gram
to come back with me. And the more I thought, the more doubtful I became. My
granddad had given her that cabin and land as a gift after my mother was born
in the 70s. There’s no way in hell she’s giving it up without a fight, even
though from what Seth has said, it’s already gone.

“What’d your boss say?” my brother asks
as he veers the truck onto the interstate. He squints at the road—the same as
our dad used to do when he drove in crappy weather. With his dark blonde hair, brown
eyes, and persistent tan, Seth even looks like Dad now.

Balling my hands into the hem of my tweed
pencil skirt, I shrug. “I worked through Christmas and New Year, so he didn’t
have much of a problem. Besides, I’m just an assistant.” I don’t add that Tomas
had pointedly said I better take care of my family drama and have my ass back in
L.A. before the end of the month—two and a half weeks—or he’d be looking for a
new wardrobe girl. Seth would either not get why I can’t neglect my job
whenever I please or simply not care. Knowing my brother, it would be the
second.

“Got anything I can wipe my face with?” I
ask.

“Center console.”

I find a package of wet wipes between a
half-empty box of condoms and a completely empty bottle of Cuervo. Before I can
stop myself, I whirl on him and blurt, “I hope you’re not stupid enough to
drink and drive. You’re only nineteen and you—”

“Don’t start, Si, okay? Today isn’t a
good day for your bitching.”

It’s only an eight mile drive from the
airport to the courthouse, but the trip ends up taking 45 minutes thanks to the
traffic and bad weather. Seth and I spend every minute of it in silence—just as
we usually do when we’re around each other. As I dab at my face with wipes and
smooth my long, red hair back into a low ponytail, I mentally kick myself for
being dumbass enough to lend him money. He’s not mentioned it and I doubt he
will. There’s a reason why I rarely come to town and baby brother is just the
smallest part of it.

*

By time Seth and I arrive at the
courthouse, the hearing is coming to an end. We sit on opposite ends of one of
the back benches—him with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and me
leaning forward, listening intently.

From what I manage to piece together,
this is the second hearing. The new purchaser, who I’ve decided to call Asshat,
and his lawyers are both here seeking a formal eviction. My grandmother and her
lawyer Mr. Nielson—the same one she’s had since the 70s— are across from them,
on the left side of the room. I find myself glaring death rays at Asshat’s
back, even though I know I shouldn’t really be angry at him.

Just like I shouldn’t be checking him
out.

Asshat’s back is turned to me, so
there’s a limit to what I’m able to see, but I know he’s built. And probably gorgeous. Dressed in an impeccable black
business suit that molds a little too perfectly to every inch of him, he’s got
dark tousled hair that brushes his neck and long fingers—he’s tapping them in
some type of rhythm on the mahogany table in front of him. I’m tall, but Asshat
trumps me by a good six inches—he’s 6’3” or 6’4”. And his ass . . . ugh, I’d
bet the last thousand dollars in my account the attorney beside him would be
staring at it too if she could get away with it. Or if she could stop beaming
up at him with her chest poked out for longer than five seconds.

Hot-faced and utterly reluctant, I drag
my gaze back to Gram’s side of the courtroom. “Mr. Nielson, your client has ten
days before the court issues a possession order,” the judge is telling Gram’s
lawyer. “After that the sheriff will carry out the eviction within a week.”
When my grandmother’s shoulders sag and she grips Nielson’s shoulder for
support, it takes every ounce of my willpower not to bolt out of my seat. I
hate this. I hate my mother for this, because at the heart of things, it really
is all her fault.

I was right when I assumed she’d done
something stupid. Mom’s the reason my grandmother is losing her home.

And then, the hearing is over. Gram’s eyes
widen in stunned surprise as she makes her way to the back of the room toward
me and Seth, but then her face softens. She gives me a sad smile that’s full of
defeat. I’ve only seen her look at me like this once before, and there’s a sour
taste in my mouth when I realize it was in this exact courthouse. Before Gram
has a chance to utter a single word, I pull her to me and bury my face into her
puff of gray hair.

“Did you drive?” I ask. When she nods
into my shoulder, I continue, “I’ll take you back home then.” I tighten my grip
around her, glaring over my shoulder at Asshat. But now, his back is no longer
turned to me. Instead, I have a side view.

He’s speaking to the female attorney,
laughing. She’s got her hand on his arm and her boobs are still jutted out and
if we were anywhere else I’d snort at
how ridiculous she looks. He’s probably thanking her. And she’s more than
likely suggesting they celebrate the easy win against an old woman and her
equally ancient lawyer over drinks and then snowy afternoon sex at her place. I’m about to pull away from Gram and get her
away from the courtroom when Asshat turns his face, lifts his eyes. Our gazes
connect.

I was right, he is gorgeous. And when I
decided to unaffectionately nickname him “Asshat,” I was being much too
lenient.

My chest seizes up. I pray like hell my
grandmother doesn’t feel the change in my heartbeat, the hitch in my breathing.
This isn’t one of those love-at-first site moments—no, it’s nothing like that. This
is one of those moments where fate roundhouse kicks you in the face. Why is he here in Nashville? In the same
courtroom as me?

God,
please don’t let him remember me.

For a moment, I’m sure he has no clue
who I am, that he’ll go back to chatting it up with Boobs McBeal. Then, a slow,
animalistic smile stretches across Lucas Wolfe’s face.

It makes me feel like he’ll devour me whole
at any second.

And it’s the exact same grin he gave me
two years ago, right after I refused to let him cuff me to his bed, and just
before he literally told me to get the fuck out of his house.